


Breathless

by radiofreekerberos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Sad Shiro (Voltron), Sheith Month 2017, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Sick Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, Whump Fic, sick shiro voltron, voltronwhumpweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiofreekerberos/pseuds/radiofreekerberos
Summary: Shiro and Keith are stranded on a toxic planet that is slowly killing them. Can team Voltron rescue them before the clock runs out on them both?Not long after they’d crashed, it became apparent that some element of the red dust was especially toxic to Keith. Shiro suspects it has something to do with his Galra DNA. He’d pulled Keith out of the red lion just before she’d been buried, but those few minutes of exposure to the storm as they’d retreated inside the black lion had taken a toll.





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally an open ended fic I posted on Tumblr for Voltronwhumpweek2017. A few people expressed interest in an expanded version with a more definitive ending so here's what I came up with. Hope you like it.

The air is thick with dust. It hangs in the cloying flight compartment like gritty red mist, coating every surface in a fine layer of sediment. The black lion is mired in it. Her delicate systems completely blocked with grit. She lays inert and half-buried amid a growing mountain of drifting sand. Nearby, the red lion lays almost completely buried. Only the top of her head is visible on the rippling surface of the drifting sand. Her inactive eyes glare defiantly into the perpetually raging sandstorm beating against both lions lacerated hulls.

Shiro coughs and rubs his gritty eyes, his tight chest laboring in the abrasive air. The oxygen mask in his flight suit failed three days ago when the circuitry became hopelessly clogged with red dust. His artificial arm has been slowly losing functionality as well. The cyber components that regulate balance and temperature are steadily failing, turning his arm into a shoulder wrenching dead weight. 

The old scars bordering the graft site have become blistered and swollen from the constant friction of heated metal rubbing against his damaged skin. He was finally able to get some relief by fashioning a makeshift sling out of the gauze padding and medical tape he found in Coran’s emergency supply pack, better to immobilize his arm completely than risk a dislocated shoulder from the paralyzed weight of it.

He coughs again, hacking up a clod of brick colored dust. He grimaces, wiping his hand on the grimy chest plate of his armor as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s not wearing his helmet. He knows it’s stupid, but it’s far too hot inside the black lion’s flight compartment. Through the sandstorm raging outside, a white-hot sun beats down on her like the baleful eye of a demon. The sweltering compartment feels like an oven, slowly roasting Shiro from the inside out. The need to escape it is overwhelming, but there’s literally no where to run. 

He scrubs his sweaty face, smearing it with grime. He’s covered in the stuff. His hair is caked with it and his black flight suit is fraying in the exposed spaces between his armor from the abrasive film of grit covering it. He swallows, his throat scraped raw from breathing in caustic dust and hacking it up again. His head is splitting. Dehydration is making him dizzy and nauseous, but even with careful rationing, supplies are running low. 

Focus, he tells himself.

He grits his teeth and sits back on his heels, eyeing the two remaining foil packs of water. There isn’t enough to ration between them anymore. Shiro will have to start doing without. Keith needs the water more than he does.

He grabs the already opened pouch, the one that’s half-full, and unsteadily makes his way over to Keith, laying curled up on his side in the coolest corner of the flight compartment Shiro could find. His arms and legs are pulled up tightly to his chest, as if making himself as small as possible might somehow make him disappear from this hellish place all together. He’s pulled off his helmet again. Shiro supposes it doesn’t really matter at this point. He listens to Keith struggling to breathe. An audible crackle and reed like railing accompanies each breath, a sure sign that his lungs are filling with fluid, and Shiro knows the damage is already done.

“Keith,” he rasps hoarsely and coughs, his voice sounds like it’s been shredded with sandpaper, he supposes in a way it has. “Keith,” he says again after catching his breath. He gently lays a hand on Keith’s mottled cheek and Keith flinches away from him, his breath hitching as if the slightest pressure on his inflamed skin is pure agony. Shiro guiltily snatches his hand away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers sheepishly. 

Not long after they’d crashed, it became apparent that some element of the red dust was especially toxic to Keith. Shiro suspects it has something to do with his Galra DNA. He’d pulled Keith out of the red lion just before she’d been buried, but those few minutes of exposure to the storm as they’d retreated inside the black lion had taken a toll. 

The dust they brought back in with them has only added to their problems. It’s settled over everything like a corrosive blanket. It’s impossible to remove or escape, and is relentlessly packing Keith’s lungs with noxious grit. He’s burning up and the skin around his eyes, nose and mouth is red and swollen as if it were burned with a particularly caustic poison. 

Keith’s swollen eyes open to bleary violet slits. It takes a while, but eventually they settle on Shiro’s grime smeared face. “Hey,” Shiro says softly, a wan smile creasing his lips, “how’re you feeling?” Stupid question he knows. Keith doesn’t answer. He stopped talking a couple of days ago, as if both breathing and talking was too much to concentrate on at once. “You think you can try to drink some water for me?” Shiro asks. 

Keith starts to nod then closes his eyes and coughs instead. It’s wet and painful sounding. His entire body seizes up as Shiro rubs his back and he finally hacks up a glob of gritty rust colored sputum onto the metal floor. He gasps a few times, as if his lungs have momentarily stopped working and he’s waiting for them to reset. Finally he draws in a shaky wheezing breath and Shiro starts breathing again himself. 

Shiro brushes the plastered hair from Keith’s swollen eyes then grips the edge of the foil pack between his teeth and gingerly wraps his one functioning arm around Keith’s shoulders to ease him up into a sitting position. He kneels on one knee and props Keith’s listless body between his other leg and his chest. 

He plucks the foil pouch from his mouth and offers it to Keith. Keith’s heavy head lolls against Shiro’s chest. He squints at the attached plastic straw as Shiro guides it to his mouth. He’s pretty out of it. Shiro isn’t really sure Keith even understands what he’s saying, but he still makes a valiant effort to drink from the straw wedged between his swollen lips. He manages a few sluggish sips before he starts coughing again. Nothing comes up this time. Shiro doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. 

He drops the water pouch and eases Keith back down onto his side. “The others will find us soon.” _Please let it be true,_ he thinks even as he’s saying the words. Keith shudders and coughs wetly. Shiro rubs his back, but nothing comes up. “I just need you to stay with me until they get here okay?” he says, impulsively running his fingers through Keith’s grime encrusted hair. Keith pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging himself in the abrasive air. He closes his eyes and Shiro lays down behind him, draping his arm over Keith’s railing chest. Keith curls up against him and Shiro grips one of his clammy hands in his. “Please, just stay with me,” he murmurs plaintively.

Shiro wakes with a start some time later, immediately sensing that something is wrong. He blinks trying to get his bearings. His headache is worse and has spread to his eyes. They’re so sore and dry, it feels like they’re pulsing inside their sockets in time with the throbbing inside his head. It’s noticeably darker inside the flight compartment. The sun must be at it’s lowest point in the sky. It never fully sets, just bakes the black lion from different angles. He can still hear the dust storm raging outside, but inside it’s eerily quiet. That’s what woke him. 

Keith isn’t breathing. 

Shiro grabs him, his heart leaping into his throat as he rolls Keith onto his back. Keith’s eyes are wide open. His skin is ashen. He writhes on the floor struggling for air. His eyes focus on Shiro’s panicked face, silently pleading with him to do something as his grimy fingers scrabble at the armor covering Shiro’s chest. Shiro thinks there may be a plug of mucous blocking his airway, like a cork in a wine bottle. Rust colored tears start leaking from Keith’s eyes as they begin to lose focus. His lips are turning blue.

Shiro sits back on his heels and hauls Keith onto his lap one handed. It isn’t hard, Keith is small and light. He drapes Keith over his knees, laying him out on his stomach and extending his arms in front of him. He cups his hand and starts slapping Keith’s back. “Come on,” he begs him, “cough it up. Breathe Keith, breathe.” 

Keith continues to struggle, his fingers scratching at the metal floor plates as Shiro thumps his back. Keith’s movements start to turn sluggish, his body growing heavier as his strength begins to wane. Shiro’s sharp slaps to his back turn more desperate. Keith’s feeble movements cease all together, then his body goes limp in Shiro’s lap. _Please no,_ Shiro silently begs whatever gods may be listening. 

Keith twitches suddenly, his entire body shuddering with a deep hacking cough. “That’s it,” Shiro cries, weak with relief. He rubs Keith’s back, “Get it all out.” Keith sucks in a long wheezing breath and Shiro thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. Keith sucks in another railing breath then another one after that. Shiro lifts him from his lap and cradles him against his chest, his reedy breaths becoming more shallow. 

There’s blood on his face, slowly welling up from his mouth. “Shit,” Shiro whispers, eyeing the smear of blood and mucous staining the floor beside him. “Shit, no, please,” he pleads, screwing his aching eyes shut. He caresses Keith’s heavy head against his chest and plants a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead. “I’m so sorry Keith,” he says as sluggish tears begin to track greasy trails down his grubby cheeks, “I… this, thing we’re doing with Voltron, it’s my penance. This is where I have to be, but you don’t. You never asked for this. None of you did. I never should’ve dragged you into it.” 

He opens his eyes when Keith’s clammy hand caresses his face. Shiro sniffs and tries to smile at him. “Takashi,” Keith whispers, then his eyes close. He sags in Shiro’s grip, his trembling hand slipping bonelessly from Shiro’s cheek. 

Shiro swallows past the painful lump in his throat and presses his fingers to the pulse at Keith’s throat. It’s still beating, but it’s getting weaker. He’s going to die, and Shiro will watch it happen. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. Shiro will live though, because that’s what he does. He lives no matter the cost, no matter what he has to do to make sure he survives. He lives, even when there’s nothing left to live for.

The black lion shifts beneath him and Shiro startles, thinking it’s some sort of earthquake and they’re about to be swallowed up in an avalanche of sinking sand. She wobbles again. Shiro wraps his arm more tightly around Keith’s sagging body, drawing him in close. Keith remains unconscious. His shallow breathing hitches, turning even more irregular. 

The black lion steadies and Shiro’s empty stomach bottoms out. The endless howling of the dust storm falls away as she slowly begins to rise through the planet’s atmosphere. The view screen is offline, so they’re flying blind, but Shiro thinks she may be in the grip of an extraction beam. The communications grid flickers and a static distorted voice murmurs something unintelligible before it goes dead again. Shiro can’t make out the words, but he recognizes the voice. Allura, the Castle has found them.

Shiro sags in exhausted relief. His arm is suddenly shaking. He shudders and hacks up more red dust as errant tears sting his gritty eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers. He’s so tired. He’s barely slept at all in the last seventy-two hours and his head is pounding. He lays down, still cradling Keith in the crook of his arm. Honestly, he’s afraid to let him go. He just lays there, listening to Keith’s unsteady breathing. “Just hang on for me for a few more minutes,” he tells him softly, caressing his pale face. “We’re almost home.” He closes his eyes…

…And opens them again inside a pod. 

He’s alone; the medical wing is dark and eerily silent. “Huh… Hello?” he calls, placing a shaky hand on the concave glass panel in front of him. He squints into the gloom. “Keith?” he calls, straining to see if any of the nearby pods are sheltering the red paladin, but they’re beyond his field of vision. “What’s…” he whispers. Icy fingertips prick his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Something rushes past the pod, dark and silent like a living shadow. Shiro recoils, hyperventilating in the claustrophobic space. “Can… can anyone hear me?” he gasps, his robotic fingertips scrabbling at the tightly sealed door. A face appears in front of it, obscured by darkness, it’s golden eyes glowing with quintessence. Shiro freezes, his back pressed against the back of the pod. The door slides open with an icy rush of air, but the face is gone, disintegrating into shadows as Shiro watches, if it was ever truly there to begin with.

He swallows and stumbles into the pod room, shivering when the cold air penetrates his thin medical coverall. A murky ring of inactive pods surrounds him, every one dark and unoccupied. Shiro’s stomach sinks as he slowly spins in an unsteady circle and stares at them. _Please no,_ he thinks. 

He hears something. Hushed voices drift from somewhere else, another chamber in the medical wing hidden behind elegant shielded doors. “Hello?” Shiro calls, his voice hanging ominously in the dark deserted chamber. He shuffles over to the doors and they silently open in front of him, revealing a small dimly lit room, thick with shadows. The others are gathered there, standing around an oblong altar-like table. Their heads are bowed and their hands are clasped in front of them. 

Shiro’s mouth goes dry as he takes the empty place beside Pidge. She’s crying. Big wobbly tears spill from her eyes as she stares up at him, her face twisted in grief and anger. “Look at what you did,” she spits accusingly. 

Keith is laying on the table, his lifeless body small and pale and unmoving. A linen shroud is wrapped around him, revealing only his bare torso and face. His sunken violet eyes are open and sightlessly staring at the ceiling. Shiro’s chest constricts painfully at the sight. He can’t breathe. “No,” he whimpers, “please no.” He screws his eyes shut. A bitter sob bubbles up from his chest and he staggers, his fingers blindly reaching out to grip the edge of the table.

“How could you let this happen?” Allura demands of him, her turquoise eyes flashing with anger.

“I don’t know,” Shiro whispers, shaking his head. He feels as if he’s mired in quicksand, as if the floor is falling away beneath his feet, sucking at his heels and trying to drown him in guilt.

“We trusted you,” Pidge says.

“You were supposed to protect us,” Hunk adds. Even his normally affable face is twisted into something dark and angry.

“We never should’ve followed you out here,” Lance snarls, his eyes wet with tears.

“Perhaps the black lion chose her paladin unwisely,” Coran says, shaking his head. He’s the only one who doesn't seem angry, but the look of crushed disappointment on his face is almost more than Shiro can bear.

“Please I,” Shiro stammers, his hands crawling to his ears, trying to block out their harsh words, or his own guilt, or both. “I tried to keep him safe. I just, I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop it.” He can’t feel his fingers. His entire body feels numb, as if it no longer exists. Like he’s slowly disintegrating and the only thing left of him are regrets, an ocean of regrets.

“No, you couldn’t,” someone says, and Shiro stiffens suddenly. Icy fingers grip his spine as he reluctantly turns his head to regard himself; his other self, the Champion. He smiles coldly, still wearing the rags of imprisonment, his golden eyes glowing with fiery quintessence. “You couldn’t even save the one person you claim to love more than your own life. You’re pathetic.”

“You’re not real,” Shiro whispers, closing his eyes. “You’re nothing but a hallucination.”

“A hallucination?” the Champion cries. Then he laughs and Shiro shudders with revulsion, because it’s his laugh, only twisted into something dark and ugly. “I’m you,” the Champion says smugly, “the real you.” He slowly stalks a menacing circle around Shiro as the others look on in silent anger. “The one you keep hidden from all your friends,” he says, “the one who killed all those innocent people in the arena.” He comes to a sudden halt right in front of Shiro, their faces inches apart. “You’re a murderer,” he says, “and it was just a matter of time before you wound up murdering one of your own.”

The Champion’s gaze shifts to the table and Shiro follows it. Keith’s cold dead body is staring grimly at him, its eyes empty black pools of nothing. “If it wasn't for you, my life would have been a lot different,” it whispers hollowly.

Shiro startles awake, still inside a pod. The medical wing is glowing with bright welcoming light and the concerned faces of Hunk, Pidge and Lance are pressed against the pod’s convex window. Coran and Allura stand a bit further back, smiling at him as they consult a virtual computer terminal. 

Shiro blinks tears from his eyes, the memory of the pod-mare fading from his consciousness. A relieved chuckle bubbles up from his chest only to be silenced by the tube in his throat. He sluggishly lifts his flesh and blood hand, his other one still isn’t working, and discovers some sort of virtual oxygen mask covering his mouth. 

The pod door slides open and Shiro reels and sucks in a long shuddering breath as the virtual tube inside his throat dissolves. He coughs, long and deep, and pitches forward out of the pod. Half a dozen warm hands catch him, easing him onto the floor when his knees begin to buckle. A warm blanket is thrown over his shoulders and Shiro shivers, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach. 

Pidge launches herself at him, flinging her arms around his chest in a fierce embrace while Lance and Hunk wrap their arms around him from either side. Shiro places his one working hand on Pidge’s dark head as Coran and Allura crouch in front of him.

“Keith?” he croaks, his sandblasted voice all but gone.

Coran tilts his head slightly to the right and Shiro follows his gaze to the pod where Keith rests in cryo-sleep. The swelling in his face has gone down and the inflamed skin around his eyes, nose and mouth is pink and newly healed. The same sort of virtual oxygen mask that Shiro was wearing when he woke up covers his mouth.

“His respiratory system was considerably more compromised than yours,” Coran explains, “he’s going to need a few more vargas.” Shiro bows his head, all the tension draining from his body at once as he exhales a long shuddering breath. Coran gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’s going to be all right, Shiro,” he says.

Shiro self-consciously scrubs his face, covertly wiping away the tears that spring to his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers.

He refuses to leave the pod room. The others want him to rest, but he won’t let Keith wake up without him there. Hunk brings him soup, well broth really, made from local legumes. He thinks it’ll probably go easiest on Shiro’s stomach after six days of eating nothing but dirt. Shiro vomits it all up about twenty minutes later, along with an alarming amount of slimy red mud, but Coran says it isn’t dangerous. The pod’s filters removed all the toxins from the dust. It’s nothing but dirt now, though it may take Shiro’s body a few days to expel it all. He _does_ feel instantly better afterwards, lighter and less shaky.

He learns that the black and red lions have been placed under strict quarantine for the next seventy-two hours, pending decontamination by the castle’s filtration systems. In the mean time, Coran has pronounced the flight bays off limits to everyone. Especially Keith, whose hybrid genes as Shiro suspected, appear to be particularly vulnerable to the poisonous compounds in the dust. Shiro hates the idea of being out of commission for so long, but he doesn’t argue. Keith will need the rest, and Shiro would never risk putting him back in a lion that wasn’t safe. 

A shower would be good. The pod may have neutralized the dust, but Shiro’s still covered in the stuff. Every time he scratches his head, a fine shower of grit spills from his hair, though the consistency is closer to powdery sand than corrosive grime now. It isn’t sticking to his skin the way it was on the planet, which means he’s leaving a trail of dirt everywhere he goes. Coran looks as if he’s about to turn a fire hose on him, but Shiro can’t leave. Keith should be waking up any time now. Shiro will shower and sleep after he knows Keith is okay.

The hours tick by and Shiro grows more worried, though logically he knows there’s no cause for alarm. According to Coran, Keith’s vital signs are stable and he’s resting comfortably. More comfortably than he has in the last six days, but Shiro decides he won’t be able to completely relax until he feels Keith’s hand on his shoulder again. Hunk and Pidge decide to pass the time by repairing Shiro’s arm. Hunk carefully cleans and reinstalls each component, while Pidge brings the cyber systems back online with her laptop. By the time they’re through, there’s a beach bucket’s worth of red sand on the floor and Shiro can move his arm again. 

He’s flexing his artificial fingers when Coran informs them all that Keith is waking up. Shiro climbs to his feet, still wrapped in a slightly sandy blanket, and expectantly stands in front of the pod window. The others crowd in around him, including Allura and Coran. 

Keith’s head tilts slightly, then his eyes flutter open and land squarely on Shiro’s concerned face. One side of Shiro’s mouth quirks into a wan half-smile. The pod door slides away and Keith reels back as the virtual tube in his throat dissolves. He sucks in a gasping breath and immediately doubles over, his entire body shaking with a loud railing cough. 

Shiro grimaces and grasps his shoulders, wrapping the gritty blanket around them both. Keith gasps a few more times then throws his arms around Shiro’s neck. Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s torso and pulls him into a tight embrace as Keith tightens his own grip and buries his face in Shiro’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he rasps, his voice splintered and broken like cracked glass.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Shiro croaks back, with a relieved chuckle that’s as dry as dust.

Keith lifts his head. He's crying. Sluggish tears slowly roll down his pink cheeks. Shiro's own vision momentarily blurs and he realizes that he’s crying as well. “No offense,” Keith says, “but you look like shit.”

Shiro laughs and staggers slightly. He finds himself sinking to the floor with Keith in his arms. Keith wraps his legs around Shiro’s waist and someone throws another blanket over his shoulders. Then they’re both wrapped up in one massive hug from everyone all at once. 

Shiro and Keith huddle in each other’s arms at the center of it, as if nothing will ever persuade them to let go of each other again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on the [tumblr](https://radiofreekerberos.tumblr.com/)


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